Look Before You Leap!
by Mona
Summary: In honor of Leap Day 2004. (Early because I'm not sure if I'll finish it by then!) February 29 brings some unexpected surprises for DW and co.
1. What could go wrong?

"Look Before You Leap!"   
  
Disclaimer: Same old, same old. Don't even bother why I do this anymore. If you recognize anything from the show, he/she/it doesn't belong to me. It's the property of Disney. Anything not from the show is mine.   
  
J. Gander Hooter sat in his plush chair and faced his Chief Agent. "Agent Gryzlikoff, I've been feeling very strained lately. I've been considering a vacation for a while, but I thought my duties here at SHUSH were far too important to abandon. But that...incident yesterday changed my mind."  
  
"I was telling Dr. Bellum to keep the power on that contraction low," answered Gryzlikoff sheepishly.   
  
"I'll be heading to Pato Alto on the very next flight," Hooter began. "For a week, I want you to--"   
  
"Take your place, Director?"   
  
"No. I've already called the Anatidaeopolis Division. They're sending a temp. She should be here soon."   
  
There was a puff of blue smoke. "I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the extra six hours that the earth takes to revolve around the sun! I am --"   
  
Gryzlikoff coughed on the smoke. "Is against SHUSH regulations to pollute air."   
  
Darkwing, unfazed, leaned on the desk. "What can I do for you, J. Gander?"   
  
The Director of SHUSH got out of his seat and grabbed a suitcase. "I'll be embarking on my first vacation in fifteen years--"   
  
"And you want me to make things don't get hairy in your absence, right? Yes, you can always count on Darkwing Duck to topple the transgressors, foil FOWL--"   
  
"Actually, I need you and Gryzlikoff to mind the office until our temp gets here. She'll arrive in a couple of minutes. Try not to kill each other until she does. Please."   
  
Outside, a taxi blew its horn.   
  
The Director saluted. "See you in a week!"   
  
The SHUSH agent and the superhero waited until he was gone, then Darkwing leaped toward the chair and sat down.   
  
Gryzlikoff looked horrified. "You can't sit there! Against--"   
  
"I'm not even an official agent. You can't tell me what to do. Besides, Gryzlikoff, you'll probably sit in this chair someday. You've thought about it--"   
  
The agent shook his head. "No, no!"   
  
"Come off it, Vladimir. You haven't lived your entire life by what a stupid rulebook says," teased Darkwing. He stood up. "If you sit in this chair when you're not supposed to for one minute, nobody will ever know. I won't tell if you won't."   
  
Gryzlikoff let out a deep sigh. "It does look comfy." He sat down. "Wow. I can feel the power seeping out!" He frowned. "Either that or my fountain pen is leaking." He leaped up.   
  
"So, Gryzzie, have you ever had to deal with a temp?"   
  
"Not in a while." The bear grinned. "But I've never met one I couldn't whip."   
  
"SNAP TO, TWITS!" came a booming voice. "I'M ELSIE WHIPHAM!"   
  
Gryzlikoff cringed. "Help."   
  
Elsie Whipham entered the office. "Nice cape," she commented to Darkwing. The female duck was about half Gryzlikoff's height. Her face, presumably appearing older than she really was, was divided into stern, sharp planes. Whipham had short black hair in a pageboy, and a green suit completed her ensemble.   
  
Darkwing glanced at his wristwatch. "I've got to skiddaddle."  
  
"You cannot leave me here!" protested Gryzlikoff.   
*********************************************************************************************************  
Morgana McCawber hummed the words to 'So Many Ways' as she admired her reflection in the hall mirror. "I think that's enough mummy dust."   
  
The doorbell rang. The sorceress ran toward the door and opened it.   
  
A tall rooster, proud red comb standing high, clad in a tuxedo was on the doorstep. "Miss McCawber--"   
  
Morgana grimaced. "Steelbeak."   
  
"In the feathers," the FOWL agent smirked. "Ya know, dose wanted posters in Europe did not do you justice--"   
  
"I suspect you're here for more than just flattery," the witch answered angrily.   
  
"Ooh, you've still got it." Steelbeak pulled a bouquet of roses from behind his back. "You were once da Duchess of Deception. I admired you before FOWL's slight name change. When I was still livin' in Venice."   
  
Morgana wrinkled her beak. "But yesterday's gone."   
  
"Today remembers. Let me cut to da chase, ex-Madame Du Mischief. FOWL's got a new scheme, and we need someone with your expertise on magic--"   
  
"Is that a threat? I've got a link with my boyfriend. He'll be here in less than five seconds!"   
  
"No need to call 'im. I won't hurt ya. Just making an offer. Name your price."   
  
"Forget it, Iron Jaw."   
  
"Nice jab. Did you think of that one yourself or did your boyfriend think it up?" Steelbeak shook his head. "I've got one question for you, Morgana. Why? Why did you give up all that fame and glory for Darkwing Dolt?"   
  
The sorceress gritted her teeth. "That's none of your business, but if you must know, he's twice the bird you and your colleagues will ever be. You ever cross my threshold again, and Darkwing will have your tailfeathers nailed to the wall!" Morgana slammed the door, smiling a little at the metal crunch.   
  
Steelbeak rubbed his dented metal prosthetic. "I'll just go to Plan B." He eagerly left McCawber Manor.   
  
Morgana was about to apply her lipstick when the doorbell rang again. She opened it. "Oh, hello, Medeva."   
  
Medeva, Morgana's younger sister, touched the air. Sparks flew. "What happened? Get into another argument with your boyfriend?"   
  
"No. An uninvited guest paid a call." Morgana glared at the mirror. "What are you doing here?"   
  
"Daddy's on the warpath. Kicked me out of the castle."   
  
"What did you do this time?"   
  
The young duck tried to smile innocently. She was slim as her sister and shared the green eyes and raven hair, but was about half Morgana's height. "Me?"   
  
"Out with it, Madelyn Evangeline McCawber."   
  
"All right," snapped Medeva. "He caught me eating a cheeseburger from McDuckles, okay?" She hated being addressed by her real name, a fact her relatives knew too well.   
  
"You know that drives Daddy up a wall."   
  
"Well, who's dating a Normal?" Medeva snickered. "I would have paid a million bucks to be there. Too bad I was studying in England when it happened."   
  
"It's your fault for getting expelled from Eldritch."   
  
"So, how's your boyfriend?"   
  
"Fine. Wondering if he's going to be when he gets here."   
  
"I think you're being too hard on him."   
  
"Pardon?"   
  
"You complain about him not liking your food, you say he can't get used to you. I don't think he's ever dated a sorceress before. Have you ever tried his food? They say the House of Love is built on the foundation of compromise."   
  
"Med, you know what day it is?"   
  
"February 28. Why?"   
  
"And if you were paying attention in astrology--"  
  
"I took astronomy. And yeah, the earth orbits around the sun in three-hundred-sixty-five and a fourth days. Every four years, the fractions are combined to produce February 29. The Leap Year. And your point is?"   
  
Morgana smiled. "Normals sometimes like to take new leaps on Leap Day. So I'll give it a shot."   
  
"What are you going to do, Morg?"   
  
Morgana stared at her mirror. "If Dark can't make my world his, I'll make his mine."   
  
"What are you suggesting?"   
  
The older sorceress stared into the mirror and chanted a simple phrase: "For one night to day, the choice is mine, relinquish thine knowledge of the occult, may fate and normalcy intertwine."   
  
There was a blinding flash of blue-white light. The mirror seemed to melt, the silver dripping onto the floor. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished.   
  
Morgana's appearance was unchanged. She held out her fingers and shook them. No magic energy came out. "It worked!"   
  
Medeva's jaw dropped. "Morgana! You're not--"   
  
"I'm now normal."   
  
"Are you crazy?!"   
  
"It's only for twenty-four hours."  
  
"But have you ever lived a day without using magic?"   
  
"Not that I can remember, but there's a first time for everything." Morgana reached into her beehive and began to pull several hair pins out. The hair, finally affected by gravity, fell in cascading waves around her shoulders.   
  
Medeva stared at her sister. "It's your choice. Dad's gonna go goofy when he hears about this!"   
  
"You won't tell on me, will you?"  
  
"What will you give me if I don't?"   
  
"I'll give you a big punch in the beak if you DO!"   
  
"All right. I won't tell Daddy." If there's anything Medeva didn't want to be on the receiving end of, it was her sister's right hook. "Though, if you're gonna go with the simple look, I'd recommend something like this." She used her own magic touch to transform Morgana's tight red gown into a black skirt and red blouse. The skirt was tea-length, revealing Morgana's rarely-seen legs. On her feet were black flats, decorated with red bows.  
  
"Not bad, Medeva." The doorbell rang a third time. Morgana opened it. "Dark, darling!"   
  
"Ready for our night out?" asked Darkwing. "Say, you seem different."   
  
"My new wardrobe?"   
  
"Besides that. Something glaringly different. I just can't put my finger on it..." The two lovers left and boarded the Ratcatcher, heading for the Tower.   
  
Medeva was left sulking on the couch. "I hate it when I outsmart myself." 


	2. Everything can and will go wrong

"Gosalyn!" Darkwing scolded upon arrival at the Tower. "Shouldn't you be in bed by now?!"   
  
Gosalyn was dressed in green and white striped pajamas. "I tried. Had killer insomnia."   
  
The single father had heard his daughter lie so many times, he could tell a true statement a mile off. "What's wrong?"   
  
"Too excited. Football tryouts are tomorrow. I'll be the first girl at St. Canard Elementary to try out."   
  
"The first girl to try out for football in the St. Canard School District was Swifty Featherson at the high school," Darkwing said as he rifled through some papers.   
  
"How'd you know that?" asked Morgana.   
  
"Swifty was in my algebra class freshman year. The only guy she was unable to beat up was Ham String." He handed Gosalyn a sheaf of papers. "Read this."   
  
Gosalyn obeyed. Within a minute, she yawned. "Guess I should go to bed."   
  
Morgana was amazed. "What was that? Some sort of magic scroll?"   
  
"No. The first draft of my memoirs."   
  
Launchpad came in. "Orsini's didn't have open reservations, so I got the next best thing."   
  
"Hamburger Hippo?" asked Darkwing dryly.   
  
"Nope!" The pilot held up a pair of paper bags. "Merry Meals from McDuckles!"   
  
Morgana took the bags and set them on the table. "I guess I'm willing to try 'normal' food. My picky-eater sister eats this stuff, so it can't be TOO bad." She sat down and opened one.   
  
Launchpad headed for the spin-chairs. "I'm gonna see if Herb's still awake. There's a Pelican's Island marathon tonight."   
  
Morgana took out a french fry and bit into it. "Haven't eaten potatoes since Aunt Nasty's Tubers n' Tongue."   
  
"Aunt Nasty actually uses vegetables in her cooking?" asked the sorceress' boyfriend. He and his girlfriend hadn't argued about her food since the opening of the Shadow Chateau, but Darkwing avoided it whenever possible.   
  
"Rotten ones, but yes." The temporarily normal witch unwrapped her cheeseburger and sampled it. "Might take some getting used to, but not bad."   
  
"Why are you eating normal food all of a sudden, honeywumpus?"   
  
"It was my sister's idea."   
  
"You have a sister?"   
  
"Medeva. She's the family white sheep. Only other McCawber who actually embraces normal customs."   
  
"I take that she and your father aren't exactly simpatico."   
  
"After she got expelled from Eldritch, Father sent her to boarding school. And everytime she'd visit, he'd put the whole castle on 'Medeva Alert'. Completely ridiculous, considering she recently graduated. Anyway, Med suggested I try to view things from a normal perspective, so I've renounced my magic for twenty-four hours."   
  
Darkwing's jaw dropped. "Does your father know?"   
  
"Oh, what Moloculo McCawber doesn't know won't hurt him."   
************************************************************************************************  
J. Gander Hooter sank into his first-class seat and waited for takeoff.   
  
There was some static over the intercom, then a voice was audible. "Attention, passengers. I've got da remote control to a bomb that's hidden on dis plane!"   
  
The head of SHUSH groaned. He knew that Italian accent anywhere.   
  
"Cooperate, and I won't push da button. Now, will the passenger in Seat A4 come to the cockpit?"   
  
The director gulped. His seat was labeled A4. He ran down the aisle and opened the door leading to the cockpit. "What is the meaning of this?" He glanced at FOWL's Chief Agent. "And why is your beak dented?" Hooter could feel two Egg Men grab him from behind.   
  
Steelbeak looked embarrassed as tossed the remote control, which the hostage noticed was just a calculator to an Egg Man. He hadn't had enough time to pound the dents out since his earlier meeting with Morgana McCawber. "Ya see, there wasn't really a bomb. But just saying the word bomb in an airport makes the whole building go nuts."   
  
"How'd you find out I booked a flight on Sigma Airlines instead of taking one of SHUSH's planes to Pato Alto?"   
  
"Are youse kidding? FOWL's techs can hack into any of SHUSH's computers. We can even access your personal schedule!"   
  
Note to self, thought the director as Steelbeak and the Egg Men were leaving the plane, taking him with them. Change the passwords. "Let me guess. You plan to hold me for ransom?"   
  
"I'm a master criminal. I'm more creative than dat. How'd you like to join FOWL?"   
  
"I'd rather die!"   
  
"Sorry, death isn't an option." Steelbeak laughed his trademark cackle as he and his party slipped into a limousine, which sped off. The rooster picked up his cell phone. "Norwood? Is the equipment ready?"   
  
"Quit rushing me!" came a juvenile voice. "You want it done, High Command wants it done! Not to mention it took half a million smackers to get Ms. Ghastly to power the darn thing! But yes, it's finished!"   
  
J. Gander Hooter could only wonder what that meant for him. 


	3. Initiatives

"I've finally decided on what my new leap will be this Leap Year," Launchpad announced to Drake as they cleared the table. Gosalyn had already left for school.   
  
"Oh, really? What?"  
  
"I'm going to win something."   
  
"Like what? A contest?"   
  
"More like a game. The only thing I've won in my life was the title of Most Airplane Crashes Survived in the Guinness Book of World Records."   
  
"Hey, not everyone gets in there, LP."   
  
"So, what are we doing?"   
  
"We're doing nothing." Drake straightened his green sweater-vest. "I'm going to Nales. They're having a sale on engagement rings."   
  
***************************************************************  
  
Steelbeak glared at the open lab door. "Aren't youse finished YET?!"   
  
Fifteen year old Norwood Quacktenstein, FOWL's youngest agent, poked his head out. "That old bag's pretty strong. Took me forever to hold him down. But come on in."   
  
"I don't know why High Command partnered us," the rooster sighed.   
  
"Look, I'm here, so concentrate on making me happy," retorted Norwood. He gestured to the comatose J. Gander Hooter lying on the couch. The chest was rising and falling at equal intervals.   
  
"You'll note that he's still alive," came a female voice. A slender woman wrapped in a blue gown and her raven hair in ringlets stroked the unconscious director's head. "He almost reminds me of my father."   
  
"Miss Ghastly," began Norwood. "Explain to my coworker here how my little device works."   
  
"The avian as we know it has three parts: the body, the mind -- which processes basic functions, and the soul -- the center of our personalities all blended together. This device separates and extracts the soul components from the others. It can then be transferred to another body."   
  
"I plan to transfer our captive's soul into a computerized body. It'll obey FOWL's every command, even if the personality doesn't want to."   
  
"So we'll attack SHUSH with its own leada?" observed Steelbeak. "Cruel irony."   
  
"Like brainwashing, only better." Norwood handed the sorceress, whose first name was Shelley, a briefcase. "Five hundred thousand dollars, as promised."   
  
Shelley scanned the case to confirm it did indeed contain the right amount before she accepted it. "I should probably mention that if the new body is destroyed, the soul will instantly return to the original body but only within forty-eight hours. Otherwise the original body will die." She clutched the money to her chest and vanished, with only a shimmer in the air to mark her departure.   
  
Steelbeak shrugged. "Sure this will woik?"   
  
Norwood smirked. "Why? Feel threatened?"   
  
"By a little pipsqueak like youse? Nevah! Just anticipating that promotion I've been working on."   
  
"Chief Agent First Class?" asked the teenager. "Nobody's attained that rank and lived to brag about it. Except the members of High Command. You've got high ambitions."   
  
"Speaking of ambition, how the heck did ya get into the Fiendish Organization for World Larceny?"   
  
"Haven't you noticed? Those old fogeys at High Command decided they needed new blood."   
  
"If you're gonna stay in this organization, watch what you say about High Command. If you say something out of line, dey WILL find out. And when dey do--" Steelbeak stopped short. Why do I care about what happens to the little brat anyway? "Never mind."   
  
**************************************************************************  
  
"I hear we're getting a new coach," Tank Muddlefoot whispered to Hamilton String the Second. School had ended for the day.   
  
"We are." Hamilton pointed toward the athletic shed. "She's over there."   
  
Tank surveyed the lean figure coming toward them. She was dressed in black shorts and a black-and-white referee's shirt, with a whistle around her neck. "Looks a little delicate for a football coach. Seriously, what's next? A female fullback?"   
  
"Guess what position I'm trying out for?" came Gosalyn's voice as she joined them.   
  
The coach came up to the bunch. "All right, you young grunts!" She cast a glance at Gosalyn, the only girl among the thirty-odd boys. "And gruntette. I'm Coach Gridiron. You are to either call me 'Coach' or 'Gridiron.' Nothing else. Not 'Ms.' and especially not 'Mrs.' Understood? Now, for our first test." She took out a football and led the way to the school's field.   
  
Honker slammed his math book shut. "Three pages of arithmetic done in ten minutes."   
  
"Honker?" came a soft voice. "Mind if I sit here?"   
  
"Sure, Penelope. Go ahead."   
  
Penelope Pinfeather sat down. She was a small bird, with ivory feathers. A matching ribbon topped her blond-brown coiffure. Bright, inquisitive eyes peered from behind round glasses. "Nice presentation in class today."   
  
"Thanks, but anyone could have lectured on the role of the atmosphere."   
  
A football bounced off the library window, startling the two ducklings.   
  
Honker breathed a sigh of relief. "Good thing Principal Farnsworth installed shatterproof glass." He peered out the window. "I don't know why Gosalyn wants to risk her neck like that."   
  
"Gosalyn? Oh, yes. The redhead. I'd have no idea. I prefer chess myself."   
  
"Me too."  
  
"Honker?" began Penelope. "There's something I wanted to ask you."   
  
"What?"   
  
"Well, the Elementary School Knowledge Bowl is tonight, and I don't want to be the only SCE representative there. I know you're shy -- I am too -- but I've been to these quiz bowls before. They're really not that bad."   
  
"Well, Gosalyn's always telling me to be in the spotlight more often."   
  
"Is she your friend or your boss?"   
  
"She's not that bad. OK, she kind of is -- but it's not her fault. But sure, I'll play."   
  
"Really? Thank you! With your knowledge of science, and mine of literature and the arts, we'll win it--"  
  
"Together!"   
  
******************************  
  
"A few of my previous employers say my methods of choosing members for a team are dangerous, cruel, and sadistic," Coach Gridiron informed her tryouts. They were on one edge of the football field. "However, I want only the best." She gestured to the goalposts a hundred yards away. "The final practice will be to run across the field carrying the football. If you drop it, pick it up. You'll also have to get past some obstacles." She whistled. "Oh, boys!"   
  
Several members from the St. Canard High School football team took positions around the field.   
  
*****************************************************************  
  
Gryzlikoff entered the Director's office. "Director Whipham?"   
  
Elsie looked up from the files she was going over. "Yes?"   
  
"Director Hooter should be in Pato Alto by now. I tried calling him on his cell, but it's dead."   
  
The temporary director turned to her laptop and began typing. "Sigma Airlines, Flight 196. Hmm...bomb threat on plane by FOWL agents, kidnapping of unidentified passenger. No explosives found on plane."   
  
Gryzlikoff groaned. "Guess I'm going to have to be taking over. Is SHUSH procedure: when director is missing, Chief Agent takes over."   
  
"Oh, stuff it!" snapped Elsie. "You know that when a temp's been sent over is the only exception to that rule! You can start by filing a missing person report."  
  
"We can't. Not twenty-hour hours yet."   
  
"And this is a government agency after all. Any ideas?"   
  
"I'm ashamed to say I am not thinking of any."   
  
TBC 


	4. Tensions

Coach Gridiron glanced at her stopwatch. "Is that right?" She glanced at the football field.   
  
The St. Canard High School football team was sprawled on the grass, moaning in pain.   
  
Gosalyn was standing on the endzone, holding the football triumphantly.   
  
"Showoff," muttered Hamilton.   
  
********************************************************  
  
At Darkwing Tower, a triumphant crimefighter was holding a small velvet box. He flipped it open. A diamond ring winked at him. Darkwing took it out of its box. "Needs a little cleaning." He blew on the tiny piece.   
  
"Dark?" came a sultry voice.   
  
Darkwing jumped in surprise, the ring falling into his beak and lodging in his windpipe. He gasped and tried to cough it out.   
  
Morgana wrapped her arms around her beaux's waist and thrusted her thumb into his stomach. The tiny ring popped out, hitting the floor and rolling under a table.   
  
"Thanks, Morg," coughed out Darkwing.   
  
"What was that anyway?"   
  
"Uh...a piece of candy." The crimefighter reached under the table and tucked the ring back in its box. He withdrew the small case and stuffed in a desk drawer.   
  
Morgana pointed to the console. "Your videophone's beeping."   
  
The caped canard pressed a button. A screen popped out of the console.   
  
Elsie Whipham's face appeared. "Hello, is this Darkwing Duck?"   
  
"The one and only. What can I do for ya, Miss Whipham?"   
  
"We've got a Code Red, sir. Director Hooter's missing, probably abducted by FOWL's cronies. We haven't heard anything from them in the past six hours. According to Gryzlikoff, you've foiled FOWL before, so it's your case. I doubt those remarks Gryz added are true."   
  
"Rest assured they are not," replied the costumed crimefighter. "Gryzlikoff is just jealous."   
  
"I am not!" came Gryzlikoff's heavy accented voice.   
  
"Call me if anything turns up. Whipham out," the temp finished as the screen went blank.   
  
"Dark--" Morgana began.   
  
"Yes, Morg?"   
  
"Steelbeak visited me last night."   
  
"What? Why didn't you tell me? I would have--"   
  
"Dark, listen to me. He said he needed my expertise on magic."   
  
"Hmm. Steelbeak rarely involves magic in his schemes. Maybe he's working with a partner. Thanks for the tip."   
  
"Maybe I can help," Morgana suggested.   
  
"Of course not!"   
  
"Why not? I'm a Justice Duck, and I've helped you before."   
  
"You had your magic to help you then."   
  
"I can't turn you into pudding or a rutabaga," teased the sorceress.   
  
"Yes, but you could get hurt." And I'd never forgive myself if you did, he thought silently.   
  
"That never stops you from letting Gosalyn--"   
  
"Well, Gosalyn tags along without my consent."   
  
"At least I don't have to worry about you nailing my door shut and covering it with barbed wire."   
  
"I've made up my mind," replied Darkwing.   
  
"All right," replied a resigned Morgana. A mischievous smile crossed her beak. "I'm the only magical being currently living in St. Canard, but I do know someone who's visiting."   
  
"Who?"   
  
"I can't seem to remember right now. Unless you let me help."  
  
"Morgana!" Darkwing tried to keep from smiling. "You're a sneaky one."   
  
"I do try."   
  
"All right, honeywumpus. You win. Who is it?"   
  
"My best friend from Eldritch, Shelley Ghastly. She's staying at the Black Water Inn." Morgana sighed. "I'd teleport us there, but --" She checked the clock. 5:00. "I won't get my powers back until ten thirty."   
  
"We'll just take the Ratcatcher." I sure hope this isn't a mistake.   
  
*************************************************************  
  
The hopeful tryouts were lined up. Coach Gridiron passed among them, handing several of them uniforms. She stopped at Gosalyn. "Years ago, Swifty Feathers became the first female on the St. Canard High School team. I've been looking for someone to exceed that. I have today. Congratulations, fullback."   
  
"Fullback?" squeaked Tank. "I wanted that position!"   
  
The lean and tall Coach looked down at Tank. "Are you questioning my judgment?"   
  
"No, Coach," squeaked the bully. As soon as the coach was out of earshot, he whispered in his neighbor's ear. "You just got lucky."   
  
"At least I didn't fall into the mud puddle at the ten-yard line," hissed Gosalyn.   
  
************************************************************  
  
"What's the capital of Ecuador?" asked Honker.   
  
"Quackto," replied Penelope. They were practicing for the Knowledge Bowl. "By the way, Professor Owl's out of town. We need an adult to supervise us."   
  
"Oh, Launchpad..." called Honker.   
  
*************************************************************  
  
Morgana knocked on the door of the Oak Room at the Black Water Inn.   
  
Shelley had been playing absently with her money. She swiftly crammed the cash into the briefcase, then opened the door manually. "Morg! Um...hi."   
  
The visitor eyed some of the money her friend had missed. "Where'd you get that?"   
  
"I...won the lottery?"   
  
"Don't lie, Shell. It doesn't suit you."   
  
Shelley blushed. "Remember the Senior Prom?"   
  
"How could I forget?"   
  
"Well, after you left to look for Lafayette, he showed up. Flattered me. And I went along with him. Merlock had dumped me, and you know what a shameless flirt Lafayette was. I figured what you didn't know wouldn't hurt you. I never planned to see Killer Diller again. I changed my mind at the last minute, but he started to use his mind powers." Shelley sighed. "I don't know if you ever forgave me, but I've never forgiven myself. A FOWL agent paid me to power a ray they planned to use on SHUSH's director."   
  
"Steelbeak?"   
  
"No. His name was Norwood Quacktenstein. Rather young. I'd say fifteen years old, give or take. I met him at his secret lab. Old brownstone building three blocks from here. Looks abandoned. You can't miss it."   
  
Morgana smiled. "Thanks, Shell." She walked out to the lobby. Darkwing was seated in one of the plastic chairs. "We've got a lead."   
  
"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's get dangerous!"   
  
**********************************************************  
  
"So all I have to do is sign you guys in?" Launchpad asked. He, Honker, and Penelope were backstage at the St. Canard Amphitheater.   
  
"You're also allowed to answer one question," explained the girl. "But one alone."   
  
Launchpad read over some of the sample questions. "How many Rhode Islands could fit in Alaska? I think I'll let you and Honk-man answer them."   
  
**********************************************************  
  
Outside a brownstone building, Darkwing drew his gas gun and prepared to jump through the open window. "Just wait here." He tossed a smoke bomb, then climbed in. "I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the sour note in the symphony of crime! I am--"   
  
"Norwood, meet Dipwing Doofus," came Steelbeak's voice.   
  
The fifteen year old sat in an armchair. "I think I'll let our new friend do the honors."   
  
"New friend?" asked Darkwing, confused. He spun around. "J. Gander?"   
  
Standing only a few feet from the crimefighter was the Director of SHUSH, but changed. He seemed taller, younger. "I should have listened to Gryzlikoff." The voice was chillingly the same.   
  
Steelbeak snatched a bag of popcorn from an Egg Man. "I t'ink I'm gonna enjoy dis."   
  
TBC 


	5. What will happen in the next four years?

"The score is now tied," said the Knowledge Bowl host. "This next question will be the tie-breaker. Remember, the coaches can answer only one question. One, and one alone. Neither coach has answered. And now, for the question: Who holds the record in the Guinness Book of World Records for most airplane crashes?"  
  
Launchpad slammed down the buzzer button. "It's me."  
  
"Correct! St. Canard Elementary wins and moves on to the semi-finals!" **********************************************  
  
"Now, now, J. Gander," Darkwing said calmly. "I don't want to hurt you. I know you're still in there somewhere."  
  
"I'm a machine. You can't reason with me!" The voice was still the same, but the body was apparently younger and more flexible. The former SHUSH director leaped toward the masked mallard, who rolled away.  
  
Springing to his feet, Darkwing attempted a web-kick, but hit only metal - which didn't even receive a dent.  
  
Outside, Morgana was waiting. "What's taking so long." She climbed to the window, muttering "It'd be a lot easier if I could still teleport." She glanced inside and gasped. "I have to help him." She pressed against the window. Luckily, it was old and gave. "I really wish I hadn't renounced my magic," she muttered. "Normals have to figure out other ways of doing things."  
  
"Don't just stand t'ere, you teenage brat!" Steelbeak yelled. "Finish 'im off!"  
  
"In due time," Norwood shouted in response. "This soul-transference scheme is going to take me to the top - at the tender age of fifteen."  
  
"Don't count on it, you juvenile jerk," Darkwing growled, attempting to flip the computerized body. It was too heavy for him to lift.  
  
"You think your Quack Fu can stop me? Guess again. Your flips and kicks are worthless against a computer!" Out of the corner of his bionic eye, the mechanical body could see a flash of red. He snatched Darkwing and threw him.  
  
Darkwing slammed into Morgana, knocking them both over.  
  
"Soul transference," the sorceress currently without magic observed. "If we kill that.thing, the soul will return to it's own body. But how do you kill a computerized exoskeleton?"  
  
"When you fight Megavolt as often as I do, you pick up a few tricks," whispered Darkwing. He glanced at an open crate beside them. "Magnets. How's your aim?"  
  
Morgana began to scoop up magnets and toss them at the robotic body.  
  
"Stop that!" Norwood screamed. "You'll ruin everything."  
  
While the body was distracted, Darkwing took the cable from his grappling hook attachment from his gas gun and checked the inside. Copper. "Perfect." He crawled to the warehouse's fuse box and attached one end of the wire. Then he fired the grappling hook, which connected with the bionic J. Gander Hooter. Darkwing then flipped the switch. "I love levers that say 'do not pull'." Electricity surged through the wire, burning the computer's circuits. The magnets were also diverting the current through different sectors. The body convulsed, violently. The voice no longer sounded like the original person. "Help."  
  
Steelbeak, a veteran FOWL agent, knew when to quit. "You're on your own kiddo. Your mission, your fall!" He turned and fled out a back door.  
  
"Oh, no, you don't." Morgana ran over and grabbed him by the sleeve of his white jacket. The last thing Steelbeak felt before falling unconscious was Morgana's fist slamming into his chin, below the metal prosthetic.  
  
"I may not have my powers anymore, but I still have my right hook," the witch said, smiling.  
  
Norwood was enraged. "You'll pay for that when I'm Chief Agent!"  
  
"Connection.lost." The computerized body said, slumping over.  
  
Darkwing brushed off his hands. "Yep, yep. Another FOWL felony foiled by the feathered-"  
  
"Ahem," Morgana corrected.  
  
Norwood's beak trembled as he stumbled backward.  
  
Seemingly out of nowhere, J. Gander Hooter - in his normal body - tackled the young agent, sending him to the concrete floor.  
  
"Assault of a minor!" Norwood squeaked. "This is an outrage!"  
  
"Not so much an outrage as FOWL violating child labor laws," growled the SHUSH director. "It's juvenile detention for you." He grabbed Norwood's arm and twisted it behind his back. "You cause any more trouble, and next time, you'll be tried and sentenced as an adult."  
  
"How about sending him upstate to a nice monastery?" Darkwing suggested.  
  
"Forty monks could teach a bratty teenager to behave," added Morgana.  
  
"No!" breathed Norwood. "I'll rip up the books in their library! I'll burn down the place! Don't you dare send me to live with a bunch of solemn robes!"  
  
Darkwing fired a knockout-gas pellet from his gas gun. The teenager collapsed.  
  
Hooter bowed his head. "I'm sorry. I had to do what he wanted."  
  
"It wasn't your fault," Morgana argued.  
  
"FOWL worked through Norwood, Norwood worked through the computer, and it worked through you," reasoned Darkwing.  
  
Hooter pointed to Norwood. "I guess he's to blame, not me. Teenagers. They'll probably be the downfall of society." The beeper in his pocket went off. The director pulled it out and answered.  
  
"Is everything going swimmingly?" came Gryzlikoff's accented voice.  
  
"Yes. FOWL agents are in custody," answered Hooter.  
  
"Does that mean you're coming back?"  
  
"No. I can still make the next flight to Pato Alto."  
  
"Nooooooo!" howled Gryzlikoff. "I can't take another hour with Whipham."  
  
There was the sound of a whip cracking. "Get back to work, Nameless SHUSH Drone Number One!" came Elsie Whipham's voice.  
  
(537 Avian Way)  
  
"Keen gear!" cried Gosalyn. "I can't believe Launchpad got that last question right! On a tied score!"  
  
Launchpad stroked the trophy. "Couldn't have done it without Honker."  
  
Honker blushed. "And I couldn't have taken my new leap without Penelope."  
  
Gosalyn wrinkled her beak. "What do you see in that preppy little nerd?"  
  
"Well, she's nice and smart-"  
  
"I saw the way she looked at you. Didn't you see her signs?"  
  
"No, but I understood her cosines."  
  
"Math humor, oy," moaned the redhead. "Sometimes I worry about you."  
  
"I don't get it," Launchpad quipped. ************************************************  
  
(Faculty Meeting, St. Canard Elementary School)  
  
"So, Coach Gridiron," said Principal Farnsworth. "You've got the full football roster?"  
  
The coach smiled. "Yes. Gosalyn Mallard's going to take us to the top. I guess you could say I saw myself in her. Only better."  
  
"Mallard? Good kid, but quite unruly. You'll have to work hard to tame her." The principal glanced at the diamond ring on the coach's left hand. "Nice rock."  
  
"Why, thank you. My maiden name was Featherson."  
  
(McCawber Manor) Medeva barely looked up from her crime novel. "Your forty-eight hours of normalcy are now up."  
  
Morgana felt the warmth of the mystic energy surge through her. "It's good to be back."  
  
Darkwing kissed her on the beak. "I wouldn't have you any other way, honeywumpus."  
  
Medeva rolled her eyes. "Get any more mushy and I'll throw up!"  
  
The end 


End file.
